Tuesday, February 9, 2010

The Morning After

The impact with the tree had stopped the car from plunging further down the hill, but, the passenger's side had a long, wide crumpled gash that ran half the length of the car.

Neither of us was injured.

As I slowly backed the car away from the tree it occurred to me that only 10 minutes prior I had been sleeping blissfully with my beautiful boyfriend. I guess neither of us was fully awake when I allowed him to drive the car. Brian was definitely not alert when he drove off the road for no reason at all.

The good news---if there was any---was that Brian had found an ideal time and place to wreck my parent's car. Not a soul had seen what had happened and even as I backed the car onto the college's main road and we inspected the damage, no one saw us. At a complete loss as to what to do next, I drove back home.

It was still early. My parents were not awake. It was an easy decision to let them sleep longer. I came back out to Brian who was waiting in the car.

"I have an idea," he said.

"What??"

"Tell them that the car was parked and someone hit it."

I wrinkled my nose in disbelief. "No one will believe us."

"They will! Trust me."

I was eager to hear any reasonable story that would keep the blame off of me so I was very willing to consider Brian's idea. It sucked that I was going to take the heat yet I was not the one who had crashed the car. Also, how was I going to explain hitting a tree at 6:30 in the morning?? Telling the truth could expose me to many questions that I did not want to answer.

I inspected the damage again to see if the lie could be at all plausible. "I guess if we take all the tree parts out no one will be able to tell what happened."

We quickly left my house and found a vacant parking lot some distance away. As we (mostly me) picked the tiny shreds of wood from the folded metal of the car, Brian refined our lie. The story was that we went to the mall so that Brian could buy some sunglasses and while we were in the store someone hit the car and we came back to find it damaged. Because the stores didn't open until 9am we waited until after 10 to return to my house.

The lie did not go over very well. Our persistence, however, caused my father to eventually gave in a little. He decided that we should all go to the mall and see if there were any witnesses. He got the mall's security force involved and by 1pm, with no witnesses, no paint scrapes on the car and no debris found, no one was convinced by our story. And yet no one said "bullshit" either.

In the days that followed, a dark cloud of suspicion hung over me but I was not punished nor was I subjected to any more questioning. Perhaps my father could tell that I was never going to change my story.

Later in the week when Brian learned that I was not being punished he said, "That's awesome!! Now we can go to the beach this weekend!"

Asking for a sleepover would have really been pushing it so instead we agreed that I would come pick him up at around 9am on Saturday.

When I arrived at his high-rise none of the usual parking spots were open in the front of the building so I was forced to try the small lot in the back. That lot was cramped and nearly full as well. Fortunately someone was leaving so after I got out of their way as best I could, I pulled into the open slot. But the car was at an awkward angle.

Frustrated, I backed the car all the way up and *smack* hit a car parked behind me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is fucking unbelievable.

Pissed about everything bad that had ever happened to me, I parked the car, inspected the damage, which was minor, and went up to see Brian.

I didn't tell him what had just happened as he was somewhat frantically preparing for the beach.

A few minutes later the phone rang. Soon after Brian answered it he turned to me and asked, "Did you just back into a car?"

I nodded yes.

In a very dismissive voice he said, "Well you'd better go talk to this guy, he's pissed!"

Fuck you Brian.

Only days before I had GONE THE DISTANCE for him. My accident was nothing compared to his.

Brian's hands-off attitude cemented my foul mood. Once I talked to the guy and made arrangements to pay for his repairs I told Brian that I was in no mood to go to the beach. I said I was sorry, maybe next weekend, but I was in just too bad of a mood to even hang out.

When I returned to my car, I pulled a note about my accident from the windshield, shoved it into my pocket and drove home.

A while later I decided that a shower would make me feel better. As I pulled off my shorts in the bathroom I found the note I had taken from the car's windshield. I wanted to get rid of it but I didn't want to leave it sitting in the waste basket so I flushed it.

Later my father slammed open the door to my room. "You hit someone last week and lied about it! Here's the proof!" Spread out on a plate was the very wet and somewhat blurry note that I had flushed.

Given the choice between taking the full blame for Brian's disaster or simply accepting responsibility for what I had done, I decided to tell a slim version of the truth. "No, there were two accidents. That one happened today. It's just a very bad coincidence."

It took some convincing but eventually my parents believed me, at least about the second accident. They pushed me hard again about the first one but still I didn't budge.

The nightmare of suspicion eventually faded but not before I took a lot of grief for both accidents and the fact that the car had to be totaled. My dear mother will still bring it up today, provided there are guests present to hear it. "I remember when Cameron totaled our car when he was in high school." Shut the fuck up mom.

Around Thursday of the following week Brian called me wanting a favor. "Can you drive me to Hayward?" He said he wanted to see a friend and he'd make it worth my while if I drove him 20 minutes away and dropped him off. Of course I could not refuse him.

That was the last time I saw Brian for more than four months.

Two days later he called me to say that he was leaving for a month to visit his father in Oklahoma. He was going to return just before school started in September. The problem was that I was leaving for college at the end of August and we had already agreed that we wouldn't hold each other to a commitment when I left.

"I guess this is it then," Brian said.

Our telephone good-bye sucked not only because we couldn't see each other but also because we'd spent so little time together since the disasterous sleep over. Little did we know that the sleep over would be our last good time together.

Neither of us expected that I would call from college, but we did agree that we wanted to see each other when I came home for Winter Break. So as promised I called Brian in December as soon as I got home. We met late in the afternoon that same day. The sun was already starting to set when we first saw each other.

Perhaps it was the fading light but Brian looked darker to me. Less boyish, certainly. He was also more subdued. We had walked to meet each other, which meant that we were in public so we couldn't even hug hello.

After talking for a few minutes he asked if I wanted to go back to his building "just like old times." I said "sure" so we walked there. Along the way he sort of was half-talking to me and half-talking to himself as he gave a critique of my appearance. Although I mostly looked the same, he said, I still had too much acne. Such a fucker... I haven't seen him in 4 months and that's what he says?

Once we arrived at his building, he took me up to the common room on the penthouse floor. We made out for a bit then exchanged blow jobs. Sex was sex so in that sense it was fun but the intensity we had enjoyed over the summer was gone. Being together did not feel special or intimate.

Because we were in a public room we quickly zipped up and whatever post-coital bliss there was dissipated. I'm not sure exactly how it started but in short order Brian began to make some confessions about the summer. Basically he told me that he had been seeing other guys while he was seeing me. These included the guy at who's apartment he had left his sunglasses and the "friend" I had driven him to see in Hayward.

I took what he said in stride. Although I still had feelings for him, I knew that I could never be with him again. We were too different.

That was the last time we ever spoke. I tried calling him the following summer but the number was disconnected. I had no way to contact him even if I wanted to.

In a lot of ways Brian was a bastard to me. He was a cheater, a liar and a user. All that really mattered to him was his own pleasure. Still, regardless of all his bad qualities I have a deep affection for him. I would love to see him again. Brian Taylor. Raised in Oklahoma, born about 1969. Gay. Tell me if you know him...

Sadly, I doubt that Brian is alive. He was a reckless hedonist. His vibe was very much like the stereotypical gay partier of the 80s. Party all night, sleep with whoever, repeat. Although I hope I am wrong, I expect that he died from AIDS before he was 30.

Brian, you gave me some very happy memories and for those I will always be grateful.

What is this blog about?

The earliest posts are my sexual biography. I tell the story of how I went from a 13yo gay kid to a happily married 44yo man with three kids. It was a strange, eventful journey.

Most posts from late 2010 - mid 2011 detail my struggle to keep my marriage together, in spite of my sexuality, and in spite of my wife Gabbie's on-going affair with a degenerate named Charlie.

More recent posts are about my reluctant transition from a suburban dad to a newly-out middle-aged gay man. It's been a difficult balancing act; I have a lot to learn.

Interspersed between the posts about my personal journey are my attempts to understand and explain bisexuality as it pertains to closeted men and their straight wives.

I have opinions but I like them to be challenged. I also enjoy helping others who are dissatisfied with their mixed orientation marriage. Please feel free to email me directly at random4780@hotmail.com with any feedback.